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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101450">betrothals and courtships</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliveryservice/pseuds/deliveryservice'>deliveryservice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), fun romcom misunderstandings, margrave gautier pines HARD for his king, misunderstandings but not in a dramatic way, other characters will be added as they appear!!!, what's it called when it's under a similar umbrella as fake dating but it's not quite that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:40:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliveryservice/pseuds/deliveryservice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In between saving Dimitri from unwilling betrothals, Sylvain finds himself, somehow, courting Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/miroirs/gifts">miroirs</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was written as a (somewhat belated!!!) birthday present for my boyfriend (hi warren), who i managed to drag into fe3h hell with me. :D it's been fun. the prompt he gave was 'post-war dimivain, canon divergence (I don’t want any other character to die plsss), king dimitri/margrave gautier, oblivious dimitri and annoying pining sylvain, references to childhood friendship, rating is up to you!!' and this is what i managed to come up with! i have the entire thing planned, just need to write it down, so this work definitely won't be abandoned. it's also the very first fic i've posted in the fe3h fandom which makes me insanely nervous, but i hope i do these characters and dynamics justice because i rly love them all tbh.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Dimitri had been asked several weeks ago  to envision what kind of life he would be living after the war was over, he’s not sure if he would’ve answered with a near nonstop schedule of council meetings originally planned to discuss actions they were meant to undertake — what were they meant to do with all this new territory? How about filling positions that’d been left empty from the war (an image of Rodrigue always flashes in his mind when this particular topic is brought up, but Dimitri doesn’t allow himself to dwell for too long; doesn’t trust himself to stop otherwise)? — that would, eventually,  boil down to one topic his council never seemed to settle:</p>
<p>When was he getting married?</p>
<p>Although, it was less of a question of them wanting to see Dimitri married rather than wanting to see him produce an heir, which would secure the Blaiddyd line — which would, in turn, add one more nail in the coffin to cement his reign. And Dimitri <em> knows </em>. He knows he has a duty to fulfill, not just for the sake of his kingdom, but to honor his family’s line and continue it as well, but… he’s not ready. </p>
<p>Or maybe, rather than not being ready, he doesn’t find the prospect of producing an heir <em> appealing </em> . It isn’t that marriage repulses him; Dimitri isn’t much of a romantic, and after everything he’d gone through, there’s a small part of him that wonders if he shall ever <em> truly </em> be capable of loving someone. (Or if someone will ever love <em> him </em> , is the correct question, because Dimitri just can’t fathom the idea of it.) He’s aware political marriages exist, has heard of the <em> countless </em> candidates his council just so-conveniently brought up during their meetings. But still, some of him, a more selfish part of him that he’s never been able to quite snuff out, that wishes he’d have more time to figure out what he wants. That he wouldn’t have to rush through everything, that he could take his time to come up with a solution that would work well for both himself and Faerghus.</p>
<p>But that meant he needed time — and while the worst of the war was over, the battle to truly restore peace and order had just begun, and every moment lost was a moment wasted.</p>
<p>The only silver lining to these meetings was, unexpectedly, the new margrave Gautier.</p>
<p>“If I may interject,” Sylvain would say, just as the council would begin to hammer on him regarding the importance of marriage and that <em> oh, </em> he wouldn’t mind if they invited the candidates for his future bride tomorrow, would they? “I think we should give His Highness some time.”</p>
<p>“We don’t—”</p>
<p>“Do we not?” Sylvain would cut off, exasperating the way he always is but somehow still a relieving presence amongst all the other nobles; and Dimitri doesn’t know what this feeling is, when Sylvain sneaks a glance at him at the center of the table just to throw an exaggerated wink, but his pulse races just a smidge faster and he can feel the tips of his ears burning. Maybe it’s embarrassment? “I understand that securing the line of succession is important, but before all that, it’s more important that we settle the rebellion brewing in the Empire. Now, from what I’ve heard…”</p>
<p>It wasn’t always the little rebellions Sylvain would bring up. Other times it was trying to appease the lords they needed on their good side, and more often, it was arguments to lower the tax for the people considering everything they’d just gone through. In these little moments, Dimitri saw not Sylvain the skirt chaser, but Margrave Gautier; somebody capable and wise, and maybe he was much younger than some of the older members of Dimitri’s council, but Sylvain was wise beyond his years — and it showed from the way he would often drive others into silence from the logic behind his arguments, and how he was somehow able to prove his points were significant every single time.</p>
<p>Dimitri thinks he’s gotten to know Sylvain more than he did from their time together at Garreg Mach, and this realization isn’t one that he takes without a quicksand pooling in his guts. He’d often seen Sylvain as superficial, with his serious moments when they were coming up with strategies later on in the war, but maybe all this time, <em> he </em> was the one viewing his childhood friend through the artificial lens.</p>
<p>“Sylvain, I…” What could someone say to one of their most trusted friends and advisors that they were grateful they were able to hold off betrothal plans? Dimitri knows he isn’t the wisest nor is he the best in figuring out social interactions, but even he feels that a simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be enough.</p>
<p>“What, do I look so good in this moment that I’ve rendered you speechless, Your Highness?” is Sylvain’s answer, wriggling his brows at Dimitri as he pockets his pen back into his pants. </p>
<p>“Sylvain.” It comes out exasperated, the way it always does, but Sylvain doesn’t seem to take it personally; never does, if the shiteating grin splitting his face is a way to judge. “I only wanted to thank you.”</p>
<p>“Hm?” Now Sylvain looks interested, shifting his weight so that his whole body’s facing Dimitri rather than his spot in the table. Sylvain leans his hip back against the dark wood, head slightly tilted; the grin’s faded, turned into a slight smirk, but there’s a quiet look of confusion swimming in his gaze. “What for?”</p>
<p>“You know…”</p>
<p>“I <em> don’t </em> know.”</p>
<p>Whether Sylvain truly didn’t know or if he did but only wanted to see Dimitri suffer as he fumbled through his words, Dimitri can’t tell; his face is impassive, save for a light glinting in light brown eyes that Dimitri isn’t able to decipher as confusion or realization. (Maybe he needs to spend more time with Sylvain to really know him.) </p>
<p>“Thank you, Sylvain, for saving me from the wolves,” Dimitri says, instead of just telling Sylvain in a straight-forward manner that he’s grateful he was able to hold off Dimitri’s engagement plans like what any other normal person would’ve done, because Dimitri is Dimitri, and for some reason, that would’ve felt awkward.</p>
<p>Sylvain doesn’t respond immediately, and for a quick second, Dimitri despairs at the thought that Sylvain would’ve thought he’d meant <em> literal </em> wolves. (But he knows he shouldn’t have, because Sylvain is smarter than, say, Felix, who would’ve thought Dimitri had meant literal wolves and would’ve fixed him with the most bemused glare he’d have ever gotten in his life because they’d never fought wolves together.) </p>
<p>“You should’ve seen the look on your face when they brought it up.” Sylvain snickers into his hand, and Dimitri is a smidge less grateful than he was before. “Looked like someone who’d just gotten their death sentence. Say, is the idea of betrothal <em> that </em> bad?”</p>
<p>At Dimitri’s flat look, Sylvain raises his palms defensively. “I know, I know; pretty rich coming from me, but it was a genuine question!” To his credit, there is an undertone of curiosity lying in wait; and Dimitri knows he could easily dodge the question, or make up some fake excuse of needing to write a letter to the Duke of Sothis-knows-where, his feet remain where they are, and his mouth moves before he even realizes that his brain’s already formulating an answer.</p>
<p>“I suppose…” Dimitri pauses, thumb on his chin as he ponders upon the right words, “I’m not sure if I’m ready yet, Sylvain. I’m well aware of my duty, and I don’t plan on forsaking my people, but…”</p>
<p>“It’s complicated?”</p>
<p>That’s not how Dimitri would’ve summarized it, but, “It’s complicated,” he echoes.</p>
<p>“You know,” Sylvain says, in the tone of someone who’s thought of something for some time but has only gotten the opportunity to bring it up now, “you don’t <em> have </em> to produce an heir for Faerghus to survive.”</p>
<p>Dimitri’s brows furrow, mouth twisted down in a frown. “What are you trying to say?” </p>
<p>“Wellll…” Now this is a tone Dimitri has grown to be familiar with: It’s the one Sylvain uses whenever he proposes a strategy before a battle, and the strategy is often one unorthodox enough it would’ve garnered skepticism and thinly veiled jabs at his reputation as a womanizer to invalidate his position amongst the table. (But in those situations, Sylvain had always managed to prove his strategies as the best course of action every single time; it was why he’d been one of his best tacticians, only second after Byleth himself.)</p>
<p>“You wanna hear it? It’s a bit of a touchy subject.”</p>
<p>And if <em> Sylvain’s </em> the one saying that, Dimitri has to wonder just how sensitive said subject is. Silently, he nods, urging Sylvain to go on.</p>
<p>“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Sylvain shrugs, although there’s a sharp glint in his eyes; Dimitri recognizes it as the look Sylvain makes before an important decision is made, like right now he’s considering all the different outcomes before he gets another word out. “The throne doesn’t <em> need </em> to continue from lineage. When Edelgard”—at this, Sylvain briefly pauses, brown eyes fixed on Dimitri as if waiting if he might crack (he doesn’t) before he continues—“was Empress, she made these manifestos and spread them around Fodlan. I’m not saying I agree with <em> everything </em> she was saying, but she had some good points. If the future rulers aren’t from one specific lineage, we can make the people choose who they want to rule.”</p>
<p>Dimitri blinks.</p>
<p>“That sounds… radical.”</p>
<p>The idea, at a glance, doesn’t sound like something any of the other lords would even entertain. And why would they, when it’s their bloodlines that have carried them to where they are now? But Edelgard had been one of the most intelligent people he’d known; if she thought there was some merit to this system, and it was one Sylvain thought wasn’t downright discreditable, Dimitri… Dimitri could actually see the appeal of it.</p>
<p>(And how couldn’t he, when just a few weeks ago, he’d been worried if his right to the throne alone wouldn’t be enough to help him be a good king?)</p>
<p>Sylvain shrugs, not quite disappointed in Dimitri’s reply, like he’d been expecting that. “It’s definitely something, but I figured you might want to know some alternatives.”</p>
<p>“I’ll think about it.” And he would.</p>
<p>It isn’t very often that Dimitri’s able to see Sylvain caught off guard, but just for a moment, he can see the widening of Sylvain’s eyes; it wasn’t staged, like how some of his reactions could be at certain times, and it seemed that Sylvain hadn’t expected Dimitri to <em> not </em> outright disregard the idea. </p>
<p>“Huh.” Sylvain squints, familiar in his execution. It leaves Dimitri feeling like he’s being scrutinized, but at the same time, there’s a foreign feeling pooling in his stomach that leaves him feeling warm when he notices how much attention Sylvain is paying to him; it’s an odd feeling, but it isn’t a terrible one at all. “Well, you can talk to me anytime about it if you’d like. Just, uh, be sure to knock first if you ever decide to drop by my room for a visit.” Though Sylvain was only staying in the castle until things had been stabilized—it was by no means a permanent situation, considering as Margrave Gautier, he needed to rule over his stretch of land as well—rumors had already spread about the men and women that’d been invited into his chambers. Dimitri can’t say he’s surprised, though he’s not sure why a part of him feels unpleasant; somehow even disappointed, not that he can explain <em> why </em>. It’s Sylvain, after all.</p>
<p>“I shall keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>And keep that offer in mind, Dimitri does.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Somehow, saving Dimitri in council meetings becomes a habit for Sylvain.</p>
<p>It’s not just changing the topic or bringing up valid arguments in time whenever the topic of betrothal comes out. Other times, it’s Sylvain backing Dimitri up when the king introduces ideas that don’t sit too well with the nobles; these ideas tend to be the ones that’d benefit the people at the expense of the lords, but those are exactly the kinds of ideas Sylvain would stand behind; if he gets to see a stuffy noble froth at the mouth because he’ll lose some additional gold he wouldn’t have used anyway, well — that was just the icing on top.</p>
<p>(Was it? Or was the icing on top being able to see Dimitri’s relieved little smiles shot his way, meant for him, and only him?)</p>
<p>Never one to deny his character flaws, Sylvain’s well-aware there’s the possibility that he’s being selfish. After all, what kind of ‘second rate citizen’ (as one of the older nobles who was already withering away at his seams liked to call him) would rather have his king keep postponing his marriage? One who was selfish enough to want his long-time object of affections to stay single for a little while longer, that’s the sort of second rate citizen he was. Not that Dimitri would ever let Sylvain call himself that in front of him — and isn’t <em> that </em> a thought that warms his cold, shriveled heart?</p>
<p><em> ‘I’ll guide him to the right direction once the moment comes,’ </em> Sylvain reasons, like he’s not the one coming up with new excuses to hold off a marriage just to feel less guilty about his feelings for Dimitri. He was a flirt, yes, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t feel <em> wrong </em> about liking Dimitri if said Dimitri was married. And had children—married with children . Sothis, he didn’t like <em> that </em> train of thought.</p>
<p>“You’re hopeless.” Felix is blunt the way he always is, slamming the doors to his rooms open without so much as a knock. Sylvain would’ve brought up the very important topic of privacy, except Felix is Felix, and Sylvain doubts that’d warrant anything other than a roll of the eyes and a grumbled ‘if you really needed privacy, you should’ve locked your door.’</p>
<p>“Nice to see you too, Felix,” Sylvain answers drily, putting his books back on the shelves on the walls. The library here’s more vast than the one back home, and he wasn’t about to pass on a chance to peruse through the books before he had to return—whenever that was supposed to be, anyway. He estimated it’d be another few months of staying here before he’d have to go home. “What, exactly, am I hopeless about?”</p>
<p>He has  to give Felix some credit: It’s definitely an accomplishment for his features to morph into disgust at the prospect of needing to spell it out for Sylvain so effortlessly. </p>
<p>“The Boar.”</p>
<p>“That’s not nice, Felix.” He dodges a pen thrown at his head, and makes a note to check if that’d been one of his that Felix swiped—he doubts the swordsman carries a pen around with him, even if it does have a pointy end. “And you’ll have to be more specific than that.”</p>
<p>“Is everybody else <em> blind </em>?” Felix sneers, and leans against Sylvain’s doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. From where he’s seated in his study, Sylvain raises a brow, a silent invitation for him to go on. And go on, he does. “How no one else has noticed the way you moon over him is beyond my comprehension.”</p>
<p>“I don’t—I don’t <em> moon</em>. What are you talking about?” Sylvain laughs, because laughing feels like the only appropriate response to this; still, his laughter comes out sounding as fake as it’ll ever come, and he can feel a trickle of sweat beading down the line of his neck. He feels like he’s been caught in an elaborate scheme, which he hasn’t been doing; just because he’s been delaying a certain fate for Dimitri doesn’t mean he’s up to something, like trying to find a way to get him to notice his feelings (and maybe return them), because that would be ridiculous.</p>
<p>Technically, something more ridiculous is <em> Felix </em> of all people being the first who figures him out, but sometimes Felix still manages to surprise Sylvain—this being a prime example of such occasion.</p>
<p>Felix rolls his eyes and finally walks inside Sylvain’s room, closing the door behind him with a nudge of his back as he leans against the wood. “Don’t even bother trying to deny it. It’s clear as day to anyone who’s looking.”</p>
<p>Against himself, Sylvain wriggles his brows, quickly slipping into a more familiar persona. “So you’ve been watching me?”</p>
<p>“I sit right across you, idiot, you’re in my immediate line of sight.”</p>
<p>Oh. Right. “Even if what you’re assuming is true—which I’m not st hsaying it is—what does that have to do with you calling me hopeless?”</p>
<p>“Are you going to do anything about it?” Felix levels him with a bemused glare (maybe it’s a stare, but coming from Felix, a regular glance can feel close to a hostile glare; it’s just his face at work), and Sylvain contemplates denying the notion of Felix’s words being true before remembering this is Felix. Probably the worst person to go to for romantic advice, but this is the same Felix Fraldarius who’s known him since they were children, and the same Felix Fraldarius who, of all people, would know best when to call Sylvain out on his bullshit. “You can’t stall the proposals forever, Sylvain.”</p>
<p>Is Felix trying to… empathize? Sylvain darts a quick look at the cup of tea in front of him and lifts it, discreetly trying to sniff for poison. He’d already checked earlier, the way he always does, and although he hadn’t caught anything odd, maybe it was a new sort of hallucinogenic agent. Because this seriously can’t be real.</p>
<p>“I know,” Sylvain says instead of even attempting to deny Felix’s assumptions for another moment further. Knowing Felix, had Sylvain acted oblivious, the Fraldarius would’ve been willing to stay in his room until Sylvain would admit he was right, even if it took him until dawn to do so. “But it’s not as if there <em> is </em> anything I can do.”</p>
<p>Maybe if Dimitri wasn’t Dimitri, he could. There were too many ifs at play: Maybe if Dimitri wasn’t king. Maybe if Dimitri wasn’t someone who’s seen through Sylvain’s act, knowing him for more than his crest, or his title. Maybe if Dimitri wasn’t someone who didn’t deserve him, Sylvain Jose Gautier, messed up enough in more ways than he could count in a single run and deserving of nothing but ruin and destruction. The ifs were aplenty, and even when Sylvain used his tactical mind to consider possible options, all the best outcomes were those where he let his feelings go unsaid and to stop stalling Dimitri’s impending marriage as soon as possible.</p>
<p>Which he always prolongs, because no matter what the logical side of his head says, every time he intends to shut his mouth and stop guarding Dimitri in their council meetings, it only takes one, pleading glance from him to throw all rational thought out the window where Sylvain only manages to find in fractures once the window of opportunity has passed.</p>
<p>“You’re an idiot, Sylvain.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what warranted him being called an idiot when it was <em> his </em> miserable love life they were commiserating upon (or it was more like Felix calling him out while Sylvain fumbled through his words), but before he can even retort with saying something on asking what Felix meant exactly by that, Felix was gone, slamming the door shut as he went.</p>
<p>Sylvain blinks.</p>
<p>So much for an uneventful evening.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“How about this book?”</p>
<p>“I’ve skimmed through that one before, it’s got no mention on older inheritance laws.”</p>
<p>“Then… this?”</p>
<p>“That looks<em> ancient</em>, Your Highness. Do you think you could get it open without the pages falling out?”</p>
<p>Cancelling his date with a pleasant commoner without even letting said date in advance about its cancellation so he could spend the afternoon researching in the library with Dimitri had been unexpected, but it was an invitation Sylvain took without so much of a second thought, uncaring even if the likelihood of him getting slapped by some girl he barely knew the next time he was in town grew higher. His reputation was long tarnished anyway—what was one more broken heart left in his wake?</p>
<p>Dimitri pushes the book he’d been eyeing back into the shelf, sighing as he does. “I don’t know why we can’t seem to find what we’re looking for.”</p>
<p>Unable to see Dimitri so frustrated, Sylvain nudges his shoulder against Dimitri’s, throwing out what he hopes is a reassuring grin. It works, if the slight release of tension from Dimitri’s own shoulders are anything to go by. “Relax. We haven’t been here for long—nightfall’s still <em> ages </em> away. I’m sure we’ll find what we’re looking for by then.”</p>
<p>“You’re right.” Unexpectedly, Dimitri pinks as he clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by something. It’s an image Sylvain commits to his memory. “I apologize for being brash.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Your Highness.” Sylvain drops his voice to a low whisper, and pretends that when he shifts closer to murmur near Dimitri’s ear, he’s just doing so to be secretive, with absolutely <em> no </em> ulterior intentions in mind. (He fails.) “Unless you mean to apologize to the librarian, who’s been glaring at us for the past few minutes because we’re leaving books all over the floor.” He snickers, and misses the moment when Dimitri’s breath hitches, tongue briefly darting past his lips before he hastily regains his composure.</p>
<p>All too soon, the moment ends, Dimitri taking a step back and Sylvain mourns the loss of contact. Even if it was barely any contact, really, but still. </p>
<p>“Let’s continue further into our research. And clean the books from the floor,” Dimitri adds the last part like an afterthought, picking up a few of his books covering the surface and arranging them into a neat stack on the table they’ve claimed as theirs. Sylvain follows suit, only taking a seat once they’ve cleaned up enough the librarian’s paused his glaring. It appears that, even with Dimitri’s status as the king, even kings weren’t exempt from his annoyance.</p>
<p>Sylvain is in the middle of perusing a text when Dimitri clears his throat, obviously awkward. He lifts his gaze, a question in his stare. “What’s wrong, Your Highness?”</p>
<p>“I’d like to ask you something, Sylvain.”</p>
<p>Huh. “Ask me, then.” Sylvain leans back in his chair, a little too rickety and stiff for his tastes, arms crossed snugly over his chest.</p>
<p>“Why haven’t you… settled down?”</p>
<p>Out of all the questions Sylvain had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. Sylvain likes to think he’s a good actor: He’s faked away most of his life to <em> not </em> be a decent actor, at worst; but no matter his acting skills, he must’ve failed to contain his surprise, as Dimitri quickly stammers to take back his question—spooked off, maybe, by the open look of shock on Sylvain’s face.</p>
<p>“I apologize, the question is indeed a very personal one and you are not obligated to respo—”</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s okay!” That seems to stop Dimitri’s nervous rambling, at least. “It’s not like you were asking me anything new.” Sylvain’s laugh is a bitter one, but it isn’t truly ugly, not like the sort of laughter he reserves only for himself to hear, when he’s sure no one else can see the cracks formed under his mask. Most times they start as small, thin crevices, but at times, they’re big, gaping holes, and he loses more and more of himself whenever he pours in twice the effort to fill the void. Now, to tell the truth or to use his regular answer, a lie he spills so often he’s bound to believe it to be true at one point or another?</p>
<p>He was close to going with the second option, but he meets Dimitri’s eyes, open and earnest, and against his best efforts, it’s the truth that comes out.</p>
<p>“I guess you could say there’s someone I’m waiting for.” He doesn’t add that by ‘waiting for’ he means awaiting eventual heartbreak instead of a happy ending, what with the practically inevitable fact of Dimitri being married off before he ever realizes Sylvain’s feelings. Sylvain keeps many things about himself hidden, so what’s one more? It’s not like anything <em> good </em> would come out of him talking about his feelings to Dimitri. He doesn’t even know if Dimitri sees other men in that way—or anyone at all.</p>
<p>“You’re waiting for someone?” Dimitri repeats the words breathlessly, jaw slack as his glance tells everything Sylvain had been expecting: Out of all the possible reasons, it hadn’t been <em> that </em> one. Not that Sylvain can blame him. He hasn’t exactly been doing his best to act like the pining lover, rather than simply keeping up his usual act of being one of Faerghus’ most infamous philanderers. ”I’m sorry for sounding so… surprised, but I wasn’t expecting…”</p>
<p>Sylvain waves him off with a bark of laughter that’s only the slightest bit bitter. “I understand why you’d think that.” Even if he hates it, it’s not like this hadn’t been the result of Sylvain’s own actions of building and playing up to his public persona. The reaction, even if it stings, is exactly something that he deserves. “Even a skirt-chaser could love someone.”</p>
<p>“I was not trying to insinuate—”</p>
<p>“I know.” Cutting off your king in the middle of his sentence would most likely constitute treason in some other parts of the world, and Sylvain feels a modicum of shame for having snapped at Dimitri. He’s <em> supposed </em> to be better than this; he’s supposed to be good at keeping his cool, not… this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.” Syvain runs a hand over his hair, and resists the urge to slam his face down into the pile of books in front of him. He is a grown man. He should be above petty urges like that, but the thing is, he <em> isn’t </em>, and he kind of hates that.</p>
<p>“No, <em> I’m </em> sorry. I shouldn’t have been so rude with my own comment.” Dimitri sighs, and offers Sylvain a tiny smile that brings out the brilliant blue of his eyes. (Fuck. <em> Fuck </em>. He’s in too deep.) “Would you tell me about her?”</p>
<p>Because of course Dimitri would assume it’s a her. That doesn’t do much to bring any optimistic news to Sylvain’s question of ‘is Dimitri into guys?’, and it’s more than a little ironic that the person of Sylvain’s affections is the one asking that to him.</p>
<p>Briefly, Sylvain wonders if it’s worth using masculine pronouns to describe the person he likes (describing Dimitri <em> to Dimitri himself </em>), but he doesn’t know how Dimitri feels about it. And while Dimitri is a good person, Sylvain’s not sure if he’s brave enough to just… come out with it, even if it may prove to be a good way to gauge the possibility of Dimitri open to being with another man.</p>
<p>“They’re the best person I know.” That much is true, at least, because maybe this is as close as Sylvain will ever get to confessing, so he may as well say what counts. If Dimitri noticed the change in pronouns, he didn’t say it, only listening intently to what Sylvain had to say. “I think they’re too good for me, really. Actually, scratch that—I <em> know </em> they’re too good for me, and if they gave me the time of day, I’d be surprised. They’re really oblivious, too. I think I could drop all the hints in the world and they still wouldn’t catch it.”</p>
<p>That was an understatement. Here Sylvain was, <em> literally </em> describing Dimitri in front of him, and aside from the scrunching of Dimitri’s brows, he looked like it was just any other person Sylvain was talking about. Maybe the D in Dimitri stood for dense (but not in a negative way, because Sylvain was well and truly besotted, but in an… endearing way, instead.)</p>
<p>“And how do they treat you?”</p>
<p>Sylvain’s brain stutters. “Well…?”</p>
<p>It wasn’t meant to come out like a question, but it did, anyway, because Dimitri had just shown concern over Sylvain’s taste and while this is below the bare minimum, it leaves his heart fluttering, knowing that Dimitri cares enough about him to be concerned. Not that he should’ve been surprised about that—Dimitri <em> does </em> care about him, in his own way; he can remember all the times he’d been on the other end of a lance, or a sword, and it’d been Dimitri shielding him, covering for him. He just hadn’t expected the concern to ebb towards a more personal level, not that Sylvain minds. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.</p>
<p>“Sylvain, you shouldn’t settle for someone if they don’t treat you well.” Dimitri seems to have gotten the wrong idea from Sylvain’s hasty answer, and he looks so serious that Sylvain nearly zones out listening to what he has to say in favor of memorizing the way Dimitri’s forehead wrinkles when he twists his face into a displeased scrunch. “You’re a good man, Sylvain, and you should be with someone who shall treat you as such.”</p>
<p>Sylvain’s not blushing. He <em> isn’t. </em> He’s used to getting his ego stroked, used to having meaningless compliments whispered into his ear; this shouldn’t even be a comment that’d faze him. And yet, it does.</p>
<p>“I appreciate your concern, but I made a mistake on what I was about to say. They treat me well, really, sometimes maybe <em> too </em> well.” Sylvain may or may not be referring to the moment happening now, because he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Dimitri being this nice to him. (Maybe it was one out of the many times he’s guarded Dimitri’s back in battle.) “It’s to the point that I’m sure even if I don’t find myself with them, I’ll be fine. As long as they’re happy.”</p>
<p>And he isn’t lying. Though it’d be nice if Dimitri ever returned his feelings, Sylvain knows those chances are slim, and he’s not going to expect it to happen; as long as Dimitri is happy, or as close to happy as Dimitri can be, then Sylvain will be content, even if he spends the rest of his life feeling like he needs to eat his heart out seeing mini Dimitris running around Faerghus. (He’s getting ahead of himself, but it’s not like he can help it. Sylvain is only thinking about the inevitable, after all.)</p>
<p>Instead of dropping the topic, like what Sylvain had been expecting Dimitri to do, the king slams his hands on the table, earning him a rude glare and an affronted <em> ‘shh!’ </em> from the librarian. Dimitri sheepishly mumbles an apology, hunching into himself like it’d miraculously help him disappear from the library in a single movement; it doesn’t, but he looks adorable anyway.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about someone, Sylvain!” Dimitri would’ve said this in a booming voice if they weren’t in the library, Sylvain just knows it. “I’ve decided… I will help you woo this person, whoever they are. You deserve to be happy, Sylvain, and I swear I shall play a part in helping you win their heart.”</p>
<p>Oh no. <em> Ohhhh </em> no. This was <em> not </em> part of the plan.</p>
<p>“So, how should we begin?”</p>
<p>...<em> Sothis</em>. How’s he going to get out of this one?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“We are <i>not</i> dancing around each other.”</p>
<p>Felix snorts. “Yeah, keep telling yourselves that.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my updates are usually not this fast but since i got struck with the writing bug and my new keyboard's super nice to write on!!! here is chapter 2. hopefully the 3rd chapter will come out preeeetty fast too, but i offer no promises.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“How should I begin to narrow down the possibilities, Dedue?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you might find the quickest answer by asking him, Your Highness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dedue doesn’t mean to snark. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Really</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he doesn’t.) It’s just that there are only so many times a person can hear the same question and provide different solutions before they decide, maybe, instead of lamenting, being straightforward </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be the key in this situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Dimitri flushes, the way he always does when he’s embarrassed about something; this time it’s not going for the most obvious solution. Dedue feels a pang of pity for him. “I’ve tried, really. But every time I ask, Sylvain just shifts the topic—or, or shuts down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shuts… down?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! He doesn’t even say anything, only pales and stops talking entirely. Would the answer really be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps rather than bad, highness, he might just not be ready to divulge the answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri looks at Dedue like he’d just hung the moon and the stars. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>brilliant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dedue,” Dimitri exhales, and Dedue smiles. Dimitri would’ve figured it out on his own, Dedue would’ve guessed—he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span>, really—but it couldn’t hurt to help Dimitri figure it out faster. Though Dedue really only had the slightest idea as to why Sylvain, of all people, would be shy about his conquests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(But then again… when Dimitri isn’t looking, Dedue carefully steals a look, and ponders. Could it be…?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Dedue says, gently, “you might be able to narrow down the possibilities if you’d figure out what Sylvain would like, Your Highness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What Sylvain would…” Dimitri trails off, like he’d only briefly entertained the idea before. Dedue could imagine why. Considering they’d known each other since childhood, it might be that Dimitri felt like they already knew each other. But knowing each other on a surface level, as deep-rooted in history as it could be, was different from </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> knowing each other, Dedue would consider. “Dedue, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>brilliant</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Dedue smiles, this time, it’s warm.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Dimitri realizes that maybe he doesn’t know as much about Sylvain as he’d thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not a realization that upsets him, not really—maybe it would’ve had this been years ago, when they’d both been boys in the monastery. But now, the realization only offers him clarity, because it’s not necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>negative</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he doesn’t know many things about Sylvain personally; it’s just a fact, the way things are. But just because it’s the way things are doesn’t mean it can’t be changed, Dimitri decides, because if he’s going to carry on with this operation, then he </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> get to know Sylvain better to </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> degree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking back to their childhood, Sylvain had been…. easier, somehow, to read. Dimitri remembers days spent playing knights where Sylvain had been easy to smile and laugh, remembers meals spent together where Sylvain had been the first to complain that Dimitri wasn’t eating enough and would always stack his plate the way he would’ve expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ingrid</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the one doing. But then, just as Dimitri had changed, Sylvain had too; where once there was genuine kindness spared to the people he knew, he began sharing that kindness to others too, but it was always shallow, said behind empty, sweet words and most times inappropriate hidden intentions. It was never as if he’d done a complete change of attitude, but what’d once been genuine seemed to have become stilted, and Dimitri can only berate himself because if he’d seen the crumbs all along, why had he only really noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Maybe because he was busy dealing with his own problems, but still.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Dedue is right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dimitri thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can at least get to know him better </span>
  </em>
  <span>now </span>
  <em>
    <span>so I can figure out who he likes myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s with that thought and an amount of determination that’s surprising even to him that has him cornering Sylvain after the next meeting, where Sylvain had—much to his surprise—tried his best to avoid meeting Dimitri’s gaze at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sometimes they would share looks; for Sylvain it was exasperation of the stuffiness of the proceedings, while for Dimitri it was exasperation over Sylvain. The looks were always quick and passing, so that nobody would call them out (it was a bad look for the king, to be caught focusing on something </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> than the council) over it, but the meeting felt… different. He hadn’t realized how much more bearable Sylvain made the council meetings until Sylvain refused to do so much as to spare a look his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Dimitri’s surprise, it hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain.” His voice comes out more stern than he’d intended, and judging from the way Sylvain cringes, he’s not alone in that thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey</span>
  <em>
    <span>yyyy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Your Highness.” Drawing out the ‘y’s didn’t have the effect Sylvain had been intending, it seemed, judging from the way Sylvain almost seemed to be pouting—before he realized where he was, and straightened his expression back into a look of feigned, casual nonchalance. “Is something the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you walk with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri had intended to ask Sylvain for details, or maybe answers as to why he seemed to be avoiding Dimitri; instead, the request is the only thing he voices, the words coming up so naturally it leaves him wondering if that’d been the exact sort of thing his mind had been traitorously building up for him to request. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Sylvain seemed to be as surprised as Dimitri was, actually voicing out an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>uhhh…</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ with a wide-eyed glance for a second before he managed to regain his previous composure, nodding warily. “Choosing my company, of all people? I’m flattered, Your Highness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain, it’s just us here.” Dimitri does another cursory glance around the room, as if he’s checking to see if his words still hold true; they do, considering everyone else had long left them alone. “You could just call me Dimitri. I’ve already told you this before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s different now, Your Highness. You were the prince back then, now you’re the king. I need to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> amount of respect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain holds up his hands. If the gesture was meant to be placating, it didn’t work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, where did you want to take me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t the smoothest change in topic, but considering Dimitri doubted he’d have Sylvain agree to call him by his name so easily—the Margrave could be surprisingly stubborn, Dimitri knows as much—he takes it for what it is, and goes with it. (Picking his battles had been a lesson he’d learnt the hard way during the war.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to go to the market, and I was hoping you would do me the honor of accompanying me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason, Sylvain actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>flushes</span>
  </em>
  <span> at his words, and Dimitri panics. He’d made Sylvain blush? Had there been some kind of innuendo he’d accidentally slipped into his words? Was there anything inappropriate in his sentence?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can manage to think it through some more, Sylvain answers, voice sounding a little strangled for reasons Dimitri can’t seem to find, “Sure!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The market isn’t very far from the palace, their walk barely lasting ten minutes; still, somehow, Dimitri can’t find the words he’s looking for, and neither can Sylvain. The ten minutes pass in relative silence, save for the sounds of the world around them and the occasional passerby stopping to gawk and bow. (It was the usual fanfare, where Dimitri found himself, on one occasion, stopping to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bless a baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sylvain wasn’t quite able to control his laughter, then.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to say I’m unhappy about the company, but what’re we doing here today?” Sylvain’s eating an apple he’d just bought, the crunch audible when he bites down. Dimitri does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> look at his lips when some of the juice lingers on his lips, forming a watery sheen. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not really looking for anything in particular,” Dimitri says. He can already feel his cheeks darken, even before he finishes his sentence. “I just… wanted to have the chance to talk to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Sylvain’s voice turns teasing, and he gently nudges their elbows together. “You just can’t get enough of me, can’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sylvain</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The protest sounds half-hearted, even to his ears, though Dimitri’s not sure just </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> being on the receiving end of Sylvain’s flirting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry.” Sylvain’s hands rise, palms up, in apology, though there’s still a ghost of a smirk tugging on his lips. (Dimitri… likes observing Sylvain’s lips, for some reason, finding the little droplets of water from the apple he’d consumed earlier an interesting detail.) “But really, you could’ve asked anyone else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you not wish to be here?” Dimitri asks hesitantly, guilt and shame for presuming beginning to claw its way up to his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sothis, no!” Sylvain’s quick to correct, but seeing the look of confusion that flits through Dimitri’s eyes, he quickly adds, “I meant no as in that’s not what I meant, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be here, Your Highness. I’m just shocked it was me.” ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t typically seek out my company,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> hangs in the air, but it’s not accusing; it’s just stating it for what it is, because Dimitri really </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly seek Sylvain out. Not usually, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s the option of being honest, of telling Sylvain he’d just dragged him here to get to know him better so he could find out who it was exactly that Sylvain liked. But Dimitri doesn’t like the idea of sounding that shallow, to Sylvain; so instead, he lies through his teeth, and hopes the half-truth’s a good enough reason for him to be able to act without sounding too unconvincing. He’s heard he’s a terrible actor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just wanted to spend some time with you and talk, Sylvain. That really is the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain falters, and it’s in that quick moment that Dimitri doesn’t see Sylvain as he is now—a confident young man who doesn’t question his own gait, smart and charming and being both everything a noble should be while </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> being a proper noble—but instead sees the Sylvain he’d grown up with, bright-eyed and curious, but still somber and melancholy when he thought nobody was looking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri remembers the time he’d caught Sylvain staring at a well, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, when the four of them had been playing and Ingrid made them stop because </span>
  <em>
    <span>Felix, you’re going to fall right into the well if you don’t stop running recklessly!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never quite figured out why Sylvain had frozen up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then who am I to deny the request of the king himself?” Sylvain quips, grinning all the while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri grins back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember,” Dimitri says, as they pass a stand of an old man selling flowers (he sees Sylvain eyeing a rose, and he wonders if he was thinking of his beloved), “when we were children, and you helped me lead Felix and Ingrid to the kitchens after we played all morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is one of the things Dimitri remembers most, from his childhood, that’d ended far too quickly the moment Duscur happened—but this wasn’t the moment to think about the bad things. “I remember we played as the king and his hand, and you kept holding Felix back by the scruff of his shirt because he tried to run for the training hall when we passed it on our way to the kitchens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain blinks, slow and shocked. “You still remember that? It must’ve been forever ago.” He ruffles his own hair with his right hand, flustered and sheepish at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unexpectedly, Dimitri feels his stomach flip, and not in a way that leaves him wanting to vomit. It’s almost pleasant, if he were to describe it, but he doesn’t know what this is supposed to mean; he’s never felt it before. Maybe it was something he ate this morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I do.” Dimitri frowns, because, “should I not have…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?! No! Of course it’s alright if you remember. I just wasn’t expecting it, ‘is all, Your Highness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there was the title again. “Sylvain, please stop with the Your Highness. Call me Dimitri instead,” Dimitri presses, even if he knows Sylvain would just pretend he hadn’t heard him or tease him about forgoing the proper court etiquette, even as king.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t expected Sylvain to direct the full weight of his smile at him, and repeat, almost bashfully, “Dimitri, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling in his stomach returns, except this time, it’s even stronger. The sound of his name feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Sylvain’s tongue, in a way it’d never felt before, despite this not being the first time Sylvain’s ever said his name before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Dimitri really needs to check what they’re putting in his food.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you didn’t try to fight me on it this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like he’s complaining. He likes having Sylvain say his name when talking to him, instead of only using his title—it’s just a bit of a surprise, considering previously, Sylvain would always find a way to go back to calling him ‘your highness.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you were going to wear me out sooner or later anyways.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> giggle. Really, he doesn’t—he </span>
  <em>
    <span>chuckles</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which is a perfectly acceptable response for Sylvain Jose Gautier. He doesn’t giggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, that’s what he tells himself, when he finds himself recanting every detail of his day to Felix. Who looks less than impressed. If anything, he looks annoyed, which isn’t a surprising detail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations,” Felix says. If there’s an award for sounding the most unenthusiastic someone could be while congratulating their best friend for reaching a milestone with their crush, Felix would’ve won it in a heartbeat. (Which, now that he thinks about it, sounds like something Felix would be proud of—as long as it was a competition, no matter what it was, Felix </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be smug about it.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> afford to sound a little more excited, Fe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said ‘Fe’ only rolls his eyes, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in Sylvain’s room. Sylvain can think of a few places Felix would rather be—like in the training hall, because even if there’s no war, there’s no end to Felix’s drive to train, even if he’s now the best swordsman Sylvain has ever known (and most likely the best swordsman in all of Fodlan)—but since Felix is here anyway, he’s obligated to put up with Sylvain. It’s an unspoken rule, at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I really need to listen to the details of you and the B—fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dimitri</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stop fucking grinning at me Sylvain—being idiots and dancing around each other? Because I don’t think I need to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> dancing around each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix snorts. “Yeah, keep telling yourselves that.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Unbeknownst to both Sylvain and Dimitri, Felix isn’t the only one who’s managed to clue himself into the King and the Margrave’s sudden closeness. (Honestly, if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Felix</span>
  </em>
  <span> had noticed, it’d be a miracle if nobody else had caught on.) It’s not even Ingrid, or any of their friends from the Blue Lions; though the latter isn’t a surprise, considering ever since the end of the war, everyone had been busy doing their own things to find a semblance of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hold onto in the midst of the oddly tranquil times. No, it’s not even anybody either of them know well personally—rather, it’s the servants, gossiping and giggling every time they see the King and his Margrave walking together in the gardens; eating their meals together; or chatting in the library with their heads close enough for their foreheads to touch, should either of them lean even slightly forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you seen them together lately?” The maid who usually attends to Sylvain’s room giggles to her friends, just as Dimitri and Sylvain walk out of earshot. The day is sunny, and the both of them had decided to spend it together, just walking and talking as they enjoyed the weather; someone had swooned that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so romantic</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the margrave to have suggested it, and another someone had swooped in to say he usually would’ve used the ideas to woo someone unsuspecting of his philandering ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Nobody mentions it, but it’s almost refreshing how they all know Sylvain hasn’t brought anyone back to his room in </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>—ever since he’d been seen more commonly with Dimitri.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re adorable! Yesterday, His Highness came to the kitchens just to ask if they could cook some soup the way the Margrave likes it—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s precious! Do you think they’re courting…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does His Highness even see other men that way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to admit you’ve never seen His Highness act around women the same way he does with Margrave Gautier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose you have a point—oh! They’re turning around, everyone quickly, back to your tasks.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>A letter sits, innocuous, on Dimitri’s desk that night when he arrives at his study. Though it isn’t often a messenger doesn’t accompany a message, Dimitri makes sure he’s sat down before he goes to inspect the envelope; and when he recognizes the crest embedded on the seal, he’s quick to open it, fingers deftly making a quick work of the seal and pushing the piece of paper out of the envelope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a message from Garreg Mach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worry gnaws on the pit of Dimitri’s stomach, because what if something had gone wrong? He’d made sure to leave some troops behind in the monastery, as a just in case, even after Byleth had assured him it wouldn’t be necessary—but he had done so, anyway, because even though the war was over, it was only the beginning of a new future to come. Anything could’ve happened in the few months he’d gone back to Faerghus. Something could’ve happened to the monastery, to the professor—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Right. I need to read this before coming to conclusions.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri takes a shaky breath. Calming down is easier than it usually is when he imagines Sylvain is there, guiding him through his breathing, cracking jokes and flirting mindlessly to cover Dimitri with a sense of familiarity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Why had he imagined Sylvain…?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, not the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri opens the letter and begins to read, the worries he’d acquired melting away with every word. Rather than an urgent message for help, or a letter informing him of something new and sinister… the letter is surprisingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with nothing threatening in its contents at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dimitri,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope this letter finds you well. Seteth and Rhea have been teaching me the ropes on my duties as the Archbishop. They say I’m doing well, though Seteth says he wishes I could be more empathetic to the subjects. I’m working on that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimitri can imagine Byleth’s face, impassive as always, being told he needed to be more empathetic; he can only imagine the brief look of surprise his professor would’ve had, because while Byleth was a great many things, empathetic wasn’t a word Dimitri would’ve used to describe him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There are some things I need to talk to you about, regarding the future of Fodlan. I’m aware you may not be able to go outside the capital for long, so I’ve arranged a visit. I will be coming to Faerghus in several days. You can expect me to arrive just in time for the new moon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Byleth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an odd comfort, knowing that rather than using his full title and making a formal letter, Byleth had chosen to write a more personal letter instead, even if Dimitri couldn’t imagine Seteth to have been pleased if he’d found out. Still, Dimitri smiles, because if there was something he could spare his time for, it was a visit from the professor himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He could also, he realized, always spare some time for Sylvain—and it was exactly what he’d been doing, as of late.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now where had that thought come from…?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Checking the calendar, his eyes widened when he saw the date; it was barely two days until the new moon, considering it was already evening, and it wouldn’t even be two </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span> days. The letter had arrived late, then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, they could prepare a quick feast in a day, and since this was Byleth, Dimitri knows he would be happy with a good meal, and it needn’t be anything fancy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Dimitri goes to bed that night, restless and excited for the following day to come, it was with the thought that preparations wouldn’t be so dull now that he had Sylvain at his side.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s a him, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Sylvain nearly chokes on his eggs, when Dimitri decides a good way to greet his friend is by whispering that as he’s having his breakfast.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, what’s a him?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The day of Byleth’s visit soon arrives, and it comes as a surprise to absolutely nobody that everyone in the Blue Lions had tried their best to be at the kingdom around the time of Byleth’s visit. The most frantic had to have been Annette, who’d immediately ridden <em>a pegasus</em> just so she could arrive on time. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though the banquet is far from a frivolous affair—there isn’t much that can be prepared in short notice, when it comes to lascivious meals and decorations—it’s definitely a spirited one, far more crowded than the last few feasts that’d been held in the kingdom, barring the exception of the one they held after the end of the war. Byleth had, after all, affected a great deal of people. And that was still discounting those who came because they were curious about the new archbishop who’d so easily garnered the approval of the king and many Faerghan nobles.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Been a while since we’ve last seen him, hasn’t it?” Ashe muses, fingers drumming on the table in excitement. The Blue Lions have gathered together in one table, and while it’s stuffy, Dimitri wouldn’t have it any other way; surrounded by friends he’d fought side-to-side and back-to-back with, who he’d gotten used to having around after fighting the war with them for months’ end. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’d been strange, in the beginning, to be separated from each other. While none of them were planning on leaving Faerghus (not <em>yet</em>, anyway), it was strange to wake up and see the dining hall vacant of most of the faces he’d grown familiar with. It was strange, not hearing Annette’s singing; or Mercedes’ light scolding, whenever she caught them all overexerting themselves; and it was strange, too, only being able to meet Ashe whenever the knights were back from their missions. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d found himself gravitating so easily to Sylvain; while all the others were gone—or they simply weren’t the type to hang out, like how Dimitri wouldn’t have expected <em>Felix</em> to spare hours of his day just to talk to him—Sylvain was always there, steady and solid and comforting in his presence.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yes!” Mercedes titters, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’ve exchanged several letters with the professor, and he’s told me a great deal on how grueling being the archbishop can be,” she says, and giggles into her hand.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think anyone could’ve done a better job, though!” Annette says, all-too-eager to voice her confidence in their professor. Dimitri can’t help but agree, though; while being the archbishop was a great task, not everyone would’ve been able to handle having to hold such a powerful position while maintaining a cool head. And if there was a word to describe Byleth, cool-headed would <em>definitely</em> be a top pick. “I’m so excited to see him again! Has he ever mentioned any of us in his letters?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At this, Mercedes laughs. “Specifically? He’s really only mentioned it whenever I asked.” That doesn’t surprise Dimitri; Byleth doesn’t strike him very much as the type who would’ve singled someone out in his letters, being as pragmatic as he’d always been. “He misses all of us, though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, he said that himself?” Felix asks, and what would’ve sounded snide from anyone else, just winds up sounding normal—even neutral—from Felix. Still, it doesn’t save him from a pointed elbow aimed at his stomach from Ingrid.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Felix</em>,” Ingrid hisses. Felix glowers at her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Mercedes had noticed, she didn’t say anything, opting to ignore it all with a wide, angelic smile (because it’s Mercedes, obviously.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He didn’t, but I knew he missed us. It’s all very obvious, really.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d bet he missed His Highness the most,” Sylvain teases, and Dimitri’s not sure what to make of it; while it’s true he’d spent slightly more time with Byleth than the rest of them, considering Byleth had been his main advisor during the war, he doubts it would’ve warranted to him being the person the professor missed the most. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri tilts his head. “No, Sylvain, I’m sure he missed all of us the same,” he attempts to say, only to be cut off by Annette’s giggling.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Oooh</em>, I’m sure he missed <em>you</em>, Your Highness,” she says, much to Dimitri’s confusion. And further fueling Dimitri’s confusion is the dark look that passes over Sylvain’s face, though it’s gone nearly as fast as it’d appeared, leaving Dimitri wondering if he’d imagined it in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on,” Ingrid sighs, though she’s wearing a sliver of a warm smile. “We don’t want to make His Highness uncomfortable. Like His Highness said, the professor must’ve missed us all the same.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You just miss being encouraged to go for seconds during dinner, Ingrid,” Sylvain says with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sylvain, I do <em>not</em>—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When exactly is the archbishop arriving, His Highness?” Dedue is the only one who actually uses Byleth’s current title, even as he asks the question amongst the chaos beset by Dimitri’s childhood friends.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s supposed to be arriving today, so I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Dedue.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ruckus going on at their table is interrupted by a servant’s announcement of the archbishop’s arrival, and all of the sudden, it’s like they’re all students again and back at Garreg Mach when everyone runs towards the gates to greet their professor, as if nothing has changed at all.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri strides several paces behind them, and misses the worried look Sylvain shoots him over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If everyone was supposed to have changed since their last meeting, Byleth hadn’t gotten the memo. Other than the difference in the clothes he was wearing—rather than his usual robes, he was wearing something similar to what he wore in the battle—nothing at all was different about him: Not in the way he greeted his students, not in the way he talked, and certainly not in the way he smiled; blink-and-you-miss-it microexpressions, quick enough to appear and disappear that it leaves those who’d seen him smile wondering if it was just a trick of the light.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Professor, it’s so good to see you!” Annette doesn’t hesitate in rushing forward to greet him with a hug, because that’s just the way Annette is; loving and affectionate, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Mercedes, Ashe, and Ingrid are quick to join the hug, though the others stand back, grinning all the while.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To his credit, Byleth barely seems ruffled by the barrage of hugs he receives; one could even think he’d been <em>expecting</em> it, if the way he smiles in exasperation is of any indication. Though a little awkward, he hugs them back, braving past the briefest moment of hesitation to loop his arms around them the best he can. The tips of his fingers don’t meet, even though he’d stretched his arms as wide as he could, but they’re still stuck with one end on Ashe’s back and the other on Ingrid’s.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” Byleth says. On anyone else, the tone would’ve sounded flat; and while it was <em>still</em> flat, considering Byleth is the one saying it, rather than being rude, it’s just… normal. “It’s nice to see all of you, too.” He gives each of them one of his rarer smiles—the kind of smile that lasts longer than a millisecond, the trace of it lingering on his lips even after the look has passed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The professor’s back, huh?” Sylvain asks, rather quietly, so that only him and Dimitri (and Dedue, by default, who’s still constantly watching over Dimitri) can hear.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri blinks. To him, it sounds like there’s a question within the question, but he can’t tell what it is. “He is,” he says, slowly. “Were you looking to ask him something, Sylvain?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain, shaking his head: “Nah, it’s nothing. I just thought it’s nice to have him back, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s not staying, though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He isn’t,” Sylvain seconds, and doesn’t add anything anymore; the conversation stills, and just as Dimitri wonders if he’d missed something, they’re tugged into the group hug, and all of his thoughts are halted.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The night of the feast, everyone is in high spirits; cheers drown out the usual somber silence, a lively air taking over the castle. The pillars are decorated with Faerghan banners, blue and proud, and the great hall itself is decked out in full blue (all Faerghus’ colours), rows of food and drinks more extravagant than the usual nights’ meal stacked between each other on the vast tables strewn all around the room.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should try some of these!” Ingrid pushes a considerable amount of meat onto Sylvain’s plate, her own stacked full with what looks like a selection of one each meal served tonight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I’m good,” Sylvain attempts, not that it does him any good; it doesn’t save him from Ingrid’s barrage of food nor does it shield him from his table’s snickering. “...Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You need to eat more, Sylvain,” Ingrid chides, like mother-henning him is her job. Considering tonight as well as all the other times they’ve eaten together and this’ happened, Sylvain wouldn’t doubt if Ingrid takes her job of watching over him <em>very</em> seriously. It’d be flattering, if it weren’t embarrassing at times.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I eat enough,” Sylvain grumbles, but shoves a forkful of meat into his mouth anyway.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mead is served along with their meals, and Sylvain’s not sure how much he’s had, but he’s had… probably more than he’s supposed to, if the lightly spinning world around him is any sign; the world’s bursting with colours and glimmers at its seams, and it’s such a sight that even through his dizziness, Sylvain has it in him to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Felix wrinkles his nose. “You’re drunk, aren’t you,” it’s a statement, and it isn’t one Sylvain can refute. Not without making a fool of himself, at least.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drunk on life.” Sylvain thinks he sounds rather sagely, thank you very much.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re incorrigible.” Felix, rather obviously, doesn’t share that thought.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither of them say anything about how if Sylvain were drunk off anything, it certainly wouldn’t be off life.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dancing is a messy affair. A good chunk of the guests are inebriated: Ashe gets stuck spending most of his time being knightly, getting the drunks who are being a bother away from the party. Sylvain doesn’t envy him, instead opting to let himself get swept in dances with men and women alike who attempt to catch his eye all-night. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s become common knowledge amongst those in the capital that the margrave hasn’t taken a fancy to anyone—nor has he taken anyone to bed—in almost a month, now. Rumors spark. Some say it’s because he’s seen the error of his philandering ways. Others claim it’s because he’s finally settled down with a nice, perfectly respectable girl who’s all-too-kind and understanding of his past. Then there are the ones who see the way the margrave looks at the king, the way he trails behind the king with the gaze of a forlorn man—and they <em>know</em>. (It’s only a matter of wondering why the king hasn’t seemed to have caught up, when the rest of them have.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not asking him to dance?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain, only just finished dancing with his latest dance partner who’d practically tugged him to the dance floor, glanced curiously at Felix, who’d been the one to ask.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, you <em>do</em> care, Fe.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up. That’s not the point. You… obviously want to dance with him, why are you not doing it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it cause a scandal?” Wriggling his brows: “And you know what they say about a good scandal.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since when have you cared about what other people say?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Felix walks away from Sylvain without giving him a chance to respond, and before Sylvain can call out to him, Felix is gone, his figure swept away by the throng of people all around him.  Then he glances at the center of the room, where Dimitri is standing, a healthy flush on his cheeks from a night of spinning and dancing. Being the king warranted more than a semblance of popularity.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain slaps his own cheek when no one’s looking, mumbling to himself, “You can do this. It’s not any different from asking a lovely lady for a dance.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It still turns out to be completely different, asking someone he’s got a shallow attraction to for a dance as compared to asking someone he thinks he could see himself falling in love with. But in the end, Sylvain is able to get the words out, even as they leap out his throat the moment Dimitri glances at Sylvain’s outstretched hand, a look of surprise flashing over strong, yet delicate features</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“May I have this dance, Your Highness?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is unfair. Sylvain hasn’t been this nervous since the first time he’d ever flirted with another boy, and Dimitri’s probably not even nervous at all, if he only saw Sylvain as a friend. After all, what was so nerve racking about a dance with an old friend?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But to Sylvain’s complete surprise, Dimitri’s nods are slow, in the same way a man would move if he weren’t completely sure what was happening was real. A small smile, earnest and genuine, curls on his lips, and his cheeks flush a darker shade of red. “You may.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain’s heart nearly leaps out of his throat at the sight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri is beautiful, and Sylvain is <em>gone</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their dancing is nothing to write home about. Neither of them are particularly outstanding: Sylvain is a good dancer, many experiences of dancing with different partners under his belt, but Dimitri, though he’d been trained to ballroom dance considering the role he was born into, is clumsy in his gait. Sylvain leads the dance, moving them to the slow thrum of the music, trying his best to bring both him and Dimitri into their own little world; because while they may not be the most skilled dancers in the hall, there’s a spark of <em>something</em> the other dancers lack. It’s the little something that’s most evident when Dimitri beams at Sylvain after a successful spin, or when Sylvain gets distracted staring a little too long at Dimitri himself and misses a beat.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dancing with you was… pleasant,” Dimitri says, when their dancing has gotten a little too long for it to only be considered as a friendly dance between two old friends; Sylvain had been the one to end the dance, reluctant as he was, when he’d noticed a good amount of the others having stopped their own dancing to look at them. It felt, to him, a little bit too much like something out of a bad romance book for him to keep dancing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just pleasant? And here I thought you’d be singing me praises, Dima,” Sylvain says. He keeps his voice low, because it’s not just the two of them, and it’s improper to be calling Dimitri by his name rather than his title: But it feels fitting, somehow, to call him Dima instead of Your Highness.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Judging by the rays shining from his brilliant smile, Dimitri agrees.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your footwork was commendable, although you <em>did</em> miss several steps back there, Sylvain. Did someone catch your eye?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...When I asked you to sing me praises, this wasn’t what I meant.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">People tend to change when you haven’t seen them for some time. It’s not like Sylvain had <em>hoped </em>for his professor’s personality to have changed, but if there was anything he expected, it definitely wasn’t for Byleth to practically still be the exact same person he’d been since they last parted ways. If he had any thoughts on Byleth’s natural calm, stoic disposition to have thawed since the beginning of his archbishop duties—archbishops were supposed to be sympathetic, weren’t they? Sylvain may not be a big believer in religion, but Rhea had always presented herself at such (not that there was any love lost between them)—then he found himself completely, utterly wronged.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sylvain,” Byleth greets him one morning, giving him a perfunctory nod. They were the only two people awake at this hour in the gardens, and while for Sylvain it was a morning routine for him to take a quick stroll, he’s not sure what Byleth is doing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, professor,” Sylvain says, wearing his most selling, charming grin. It does little to falter Byleth, though that was to be expected. “You’re up early.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m always up early.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right. Conversation had never been Byleth’s strong point, as much as Sylvain liked him well enough.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what’s got you visiting us?” Sylvain asks. He has to take several strides to catch up to Byleth, the former having arrived first, but keeping up with Byleth is easy, when Sylvain still towers over him slightly—longer legs means longer strides. “I hadn’t expected you to come so soon, considering we’re all still doing reparations after the war.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hadn’t expected to come here this soon, either,” Byleth agrees. He steps over a rock, though his eyes are <em>clearly</em> not directed to the ground. Sylvain wants to know how he does that. “But Seteth pushed for me to take a break, he didn’t want the new archbishop working himself to the ground too fast.” He frowns, like the thought of him overworking himself was funny.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Knowing Byleth’s tenacity, though, Sylvain can see where Seteth came from.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s good, isn’t it? Taking a break. I know <em>I </em>wouldn’t be able to stand it if I just had to keep working.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re very different people, Sylvain,” Byleth says, not unkindly. There’s even a trace of a smile on his lips, and Sylvain returns the gesture with a shrug. “You’re not in Gautier territory.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I’m not,” Sylvain agrees. “But someone had to help His Highness, so I just… stepped up to it. Father doesn’t mind.” Having an excuse to keep the title of Margrave for just a little while longer was enough for his father, even if he wasn’t <em>really</em> the margrave, only acting as one in Sylvain’s absence. His father had also mentioned something about this being good for the Gautiers’ political standing, but by that point of his speech, Sylvain had droned him out. He wasn’t doing this for political perks; Sylvain was only doing this for Dimitri and Faerghus—though maybe it was mostly Dimitri.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Byleth eyes him. “Is something on my face? I know I’m dashing, professor, but you didn’t have to ogle me,” Sylvain says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Byleth doesn’t roll his eyes, because that’s just not a thing he does; instead, he cracks the smallest of smiles. “You’re just here to help Dimitri?” Byleth says instead, completely ignoring what Sylvain just said.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s the plan,” Sylvain answers. “Why?” He sneaks a glance at Byleth, who isn’t looking at him anymore, instead choosing to mind the garden’s path instead. The flowers are blooming, right now, petals dancing with the wind and an assortment of aromas, natural and almost citruslike, reach his nose. “You wishing you could be here for His Highness instead of me? I take my job seriously, you know, you don’t have to worry about me slacking off, professor.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brow furrowing, Byleth says, “No, that’s not the case. I’m glad Dimitri has you helping him, Sylvain. You’re dependable when you need to be.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Th<em>aaa</em>nks—wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time Byleth has had enough of strolling through the gardens, Sylvain escorts him back to where he’s staying, never realizing a pair of blue eyes tracking them from across the courtyard, misplaced realization dawning in their wake.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a <em>him</em>, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain nearly chokes on his eggs, when Dimitri decides a good way to greet his friend is by whispering that as he’s having his breakfast.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, what’s a him?” Sylvain asks, trying to play it cool; acting like he doesn’t know anything at all, like he hasn’t caught on to the fact that Dimitri’s hit it right on the head that all this time, the mysterious woman who’d captured Sylvain’s attention had never been a woman at all. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a him, and I think I know who it is,” Dimitri says, instead, completely ignoring Sylvain’s spluttered protests. Still, Dimitri had been careful to keep his voice low, low enough that the only people who would’ve been able to hear him were the ones who’d been sitting near Sylvain as he ate. Meaning no one, since he’d been eating alone, thinking he would’ve had a peaceful breakfast before a perilous day.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Turns out he was having a perilous breakfast before a perilous day, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to feel so annoyed when it’s <em>Dimitri</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who is it, then?” Sylvain asks, because entertaining Dimitri seems to be his only viable option now.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He only hopes Dimitri hasn’t figured out <em>who</em> the him was. Sylvain isn’t a romantic, but he’d already decided that if he ever confessed to Dimitri (which was a big <em>maybe</em>), he would want it to be special. Not a blurted, hasty confession of admittance that Dimitri had guessed right and <em>yup</em>, Sylvain’s hopeless crush was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd himself. And having it be said while he was scrambling to finish his eggs? <em>No</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the professor, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uhhh… what.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>in the next chapter: misunderstandings are cleared up (FINALLY!!!), and we're getting closer and closer to home stretch.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s always been you.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of all the ways Dimitri could’ve been wrong, this was <em>so</em> far off the mark that for seconds, the only thing Sylvain can do is laugh; hapless, shoulders trembling as he does, mirth freely flowing up past his throat. This was even <em>worse</em> than when Dimitri had first inserted himself into the situation in the first place, but Sylvain can’t find himself laughing anymore when Dimitri still looks at him with that serious, earnest expression, though it’s been marred by a vague sense of confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait,” Sylvain says. “You’re serious.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri, nodding: “Is it not the professor? I saw the two of you talking this morning, and I just thought…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain gapes, horrified. Not because Byleth is horrendous—it’s the opposite, and while he’s not one to spout needless compliments when he isn’t trying to flirt or get his way, even he can admit the professor is beautiful—but because <em>he’d</em> thought <em>Dimitri</em> liked Byleth. To Sylvain, at least, it always seemed like there was something going on between the two of them, and it wasn’t just because Byleth had been the person Dimitri seemed to rely on the most during the war.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does… seeing that make you mad?” Sylvain asks, careful to keep his tone deceptively curious. He’s <em>hungry</em> for information, wants to know if his assumptions had been right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because the both of you are men?” Dimitri splutters, looking shocked at the thought that Sylvain had thought he’d been angry because of <em>that</em>. “No, of course not! There’s nothing wrong with, um.” He pauses, the tips of his ears growing red. Cute. “With wanting to be with another man, Sylvain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain has never been one for validation. Even from the most honest of men, there’s a part of him that whispers, snidely in the back of his mind, <em>they’re just </em>lying <em>to you to get in your good graces</em>. And he’d always been confident enough in his sexuality—it was one of the few things he <em>was</em> comfortable about in himself—comfortable enough that the prospect of him needing <em>validation</em> for it, on a normal day, would’ve made him laugh. He didn’t <em>need</em> that validation from Dimitri, has never needed that; but somehow, hearing it makes him feel like a small weight has been lifted off his chest, because Sylvain only realizes now how much he’d been hoping his own crush wouldn’t have minded that about himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You’re going to be the death of me, one day, aren’t you?</em> Sylvain wonders, and he thinks he can believe it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not that, Dimitri,” Sylvain reassures, noticing the way Dimitri’s shoulders seem to sag with relief. “I was talking about seeing me with the professor. I thought the two of you were… you know.” And Sylvain wants to say he’s ready, for whatever the answer is. He <em>is</em>. It’s not like he’d mind if it turned out Dimitri’s affections lied in the professor instead of him, or someone else, or nobody at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(He <em>isn’t</em> ready to hear that, isn’t ready for whatever it is they have going on right now to end.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri splutters, bringing up a hand to cover in front of him as he takes a step back in bewilderment. In that moment, Sylvain doesn’t see his king, who has gone through hell and back to reclaim his kingdom: Instead, he sees Dimitri, seventeen and green, the house leader Sylvain would’ve cut through battalions for in all their missions that seemed to always go wrong, in some shape or form.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Dimitri denies, shaking his head. He puts his hand down, and looks at Sylvain like <em>he’s</em> the weird one. “The professor and I, we aren’t… I don’t think he even likes people in that way, Sylvain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s news to him. Sylvain raises a brow. “Really?” He asks, curiosity seeping in his carefully-light tone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nodding: “Yes. He’s told me he’s never been able to see anyone in that light.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a term for that, most likely, because Sylvain knows the professor isn’t alone. Felix is like that as well, though he’s always gotten angry whenever Sylvain pointed it out—making sure he went the extra mile when they were sparring just so Sylvain would know just how  pointy the tip of his wooden sword was, and maybe Sylvain has been a jerk about that—not that he cares enough to apologize to Felix over incidents long passed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh,” Sylvain says, pondering. Dimitri doesn’t say anything, completely unaware of the loosening of the knot that’d been hanging over Sylvain’s chest at the knowledge that Dimitri and the professor don’t have anything going on between them. “That’s news to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If it isn’t the professor, then who…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri looks so lost that for a moment, Sylvain entertains the thought of just telling Dimitri, right here and now. Although it isn’t a romantic setting at all, and he’s sure his eggs are getting cold, by now. It’s also not at all ideal for him to confess in the middle of this hall where anybody could easily eavesdrop. Not because Sylvain necessarily cared about what others thought, but because it’d be a blow to his ego in the event he was rejected, and the news spread around the kingdom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The people here are the biggest gossips Sylvain knows, and he’s been the subject of rumors in the Gautier household since he’d started flirting with the girls in the nearby town—meaning, it’d been for as long as he can remember.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll just have to keep digging until you figure it out, Your Highness,” Sylvain sings, and fails to stifle his smirk when Dimitri’s eyes narrow into slits.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Contrary to popular belief, Byleth <em>does</em> know more than he lets on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s easy to let people think he’s aloof by nature. Byleth is self-aware enough to know he isn’t the most emotional of people (understatement of the year), and he knows enough that he doesn’t process or act on his emotions the way most people would. Most assume this translates into him being oblivious, a lack of awareness to people’s feelings about him or what’s going on in his orbit: It doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although, Jeralt had always said Byleth was better at reading and figuring out others before himself, despite his disposition that made him <em>far</em> from being a people’s person. Byleth, with his usual tactical brilliance, is great at figuring out others: What they’re feeling, spotting the things that bother them, figuring out their <em>weaknesses</em>. It’d been one of his primary assets during his time as a mercenary and as a professor, knowing the right things to see and say to his targets and later on students, and even though Seteth keeps complaining about how he should be more empathetic to those who’ve come seeking for his help now that he’s the archbishop, Seteth has never said anything about Byleth’s ability to understand others. (It’s just the way Byleth goes at it is his problem.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So when Dimitri asks him for a moment of his time, citing important matters but really just spending it to talk to someone about his frustrations with Sylvain, Byleth sees through it for what it is; whether or not <em>Dimitri </em>has realized it himself is a different matter entirely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long has this been going on?” Byleth asks, because he doesn’t know what Dimitri wants him to say, or if he’s just looking for a listening ear. In either case, Byleth is happy enough to oblige and help his former student.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri gnaws on his lip. “A month, I think?” He guesses. “And I’m still no closer to finding out <em>who</em> it is he likes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does it bother you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not finding out who he likes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That Sylvain likes someone,” Byleth corrects.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blue eyes widen in surprise, and Byleth wonders if he should’ve been less blunt in his wording. Oh, well. Too late to change that now, he supposes. “Why would I be bothered?” Dimitri asks, and he laughs, nervously enough that Byleth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Call it curiosity,” Byleth says. “You should ask him to go fishing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fishing? With Sylvain?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” Byleth nods. He’s so, <em>so</em> tempted to say something about how Dimitri should call it a date—not that Byleth knows, personally, about how dates are supposed to work, but that sounds like the sort of thing Annette would’ve rambled on to him about the latest romance book she’d read—but he doesn’t want to break Faerghus’ king.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though maybe, if neither of them figure this out before Byleth returns to Garreg Mach, he should consider doing something more to nudge them in the right direction. It was simply the most tactical move to make everyone the happiest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a nice pond right by the gardens,” Byleth adds, helpfully, like he’s not mentioning this to the one person who has lived here almost his entire life. “It’s not crowded.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri still looks at Byleth like he’s sprouted cat ears and a tail. Byleth has a feeling that if this were anyone else, Dimitri might’ve disregarded the advice for how out-of-nowhere it was, but when was the last time Byleth had steered him wrong?</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain does not know how to fish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, when Dimitri asks him to go fishing with him, he can’t stop himself from saying ‘yes’, even if he spends the remainder of his day sitting in the library trying to find books that might help him with fishing—and when he barely finds anything, hastily purchases his own fishing rod and some bait at the market, and heads to a spot to practice it himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fish keep escaping him, save for a scant few that latches onto his rod and, miraculously, he fishes out the water; he lets those go, though, because he’s only practicing to ensure he doesn’t make a total fool of himself to Dimitri, and he doesn’t know what excuse is acceptable enough for him to return to the castle with a bucketful of fish without admitting the truth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he recalls this story to Felix, he gets a disgusted sneer in return. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re hopeless and pathetic,” Felix says, and Sylvain whines in protest because <em>why</em> is his sole confidant so <em>mean</em> (though secretly, he agrees.)</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As it turns out, Sylvain hadn’t needed to worry about being bad at fishing: While Sylvain is an amateur at worst and sort-of intermediate at best (all thanks to the hours he’d spent cramming to learn how to fish), Dimitri is straight-up <em>terrible</em>, and his fishing pole suffers the consequences.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Snapped in half. His fishing pole has been <em>snapped in half</em>.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How are you so bad at this?” Sylvain snickers as he pulls another fish out of the water, grinning as he spots Dimitri’s pout. “If you didn’t know how to fish, I don’t know why you asked me to come out here in the first place. Dimitri, if you wanted to be around me so bad, we could’ve just gone to the library.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri blushes at this, for some reason, and it <em>almost</em> makes Sylvain curl a smug smile. Almost.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The professor suggested it,” Dimitri mutters, staring in forlorn at the pieces that are left of his pole.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Confusion. That’s all Sylvain feels. “Why would he suggest that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know, either.” Dimitri shrugs. Sylvain feels an irrational sense of fondness for this idiot who’d gone with the professor’s advice despite not even realizing <em>why</em> the suggestion had been on the table in the first place, despite Sylvain realizing that had this been anyone else, the chances are he’d be annoyed for having his time wasted just like that. But this isn’t anyone else: This is Dimitri, and Sylvain doubts he could ever think of any time he spent with him as a time wasted. “But you said yes, so I thought… I’d be able to make it a more enjoyable experience. I didn’t expect this to happen.” When he said ‘this’, Dimitri holds up one of the pieces of his rod, and Sylvain barks his laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay, Dimitri. It happens.” Sylvain doubts this is what he would’ve said to anyone else. Annoyance, or snide sarcasm wrapped in false flirtation, might’ve been his reaction, had it been someone else. Dimitri isn’t just someone else, however. “Want to use mine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll just break it.” Dimitri shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain glances at the pond, then his rod; and then he shrugs, placing his rod back on the ground. “Then I won’t be using it, either. Fishing’s no fun if you’re alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to go back, then?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s too soon.” Sylvain doesn’t have a watch, but if he had to estimate, it couldn’t have been more than an hour since they’d arrived. He values his time with Dimitri too much to let it end too quick; likes being around Dimitri too much that he doesn’t want this to end too soon, even if it hadn’t been the outing he’d imagined it to be. “We could go for a swim. The water’s nice, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it is. The water’s clear enough, and the while Faerghus is <em>cold</em>, the weather today isn’t so bad that they’d freeze to death. It’s a rare occasion, and Sylvain wants to grasp it with his two hands, should Dimitri accept. (And just so he’s clear, it’s not like he’s doing this <em>just</em> to look at the expanse of Dimitri’s skin, even if that would be a nice bonus.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri hesitates, tongue prodding out between his teeth. “I don’t know, we didn’t bring a change of clothes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’ll be fine.” Sylvain rolls his eyes. “We’ll just go without them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Naked</em>?!” Dimitri squeaks. He blushes fiercely, from his neck to the tips of his ears, and Sylvain feels his own blush creeping on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sylvain says, his voice slightly croaked. “We’ll keep our pants on, just not… the shirts…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. <em>Oh</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The silence is awkward, and Sylvain loathes it; he doesn’t want Dimitri to feel uncomfortable, and he <em>hates</em> that the quiet dwells. He unbuttons his top, trying to ignore Dimitri’s quiet splutters, tossing it to the ground and tugging his undershirt up, past his neck. He makes sure to take off his pants, as well, because having wet underpants is one thing while having a wet bottom-everything is on another level of discomfort, before he steps forward into the water. Sylvain would’ve dived, except the water is shallow enough that he fears he would’ve just hit his head against the rocks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he looks again, at Dimitri, it’s to see Dimitri’s blush darkening, his eyes darting around all over the place to avoid looking at Sylvain’s half-naked form. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to join,” Sylvain reassures. “You could just wait. Or go back first, I wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Dimitri shakes his head, even as the tips of his fingers tremble in small, minuscule quivers. Sylvain swallows back his spit, trying his best not to make it too obvious that he’s eyeing Dimitri. “I’ll join you.” Dimitri loosens up the collar of his own shirt before discarding his clothes the way Sylvain had, placing them on a neat pile on the floor, right next to his. Sylvain doesn’t bother looking away when Dimitri hikes up his shirt, eyes devouring the sight of his pale stomach, glittering with lines of defined muscle and fading battle scars. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri’s a <em>sight</em>, and Sylvain hastily turns his head away when he feels his pants getting tighter in a way he knows isn’t just the water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quiet splashes signal Dimitri’s arrival, the king wading through the water to float behind Sylvain. Sylvain, for once, is glad for their distance, because if Dimitri finds out he’s <em>hard</em>, Sylvain might just die from embarrassment. The water’s cooler temperature helps, too; maybe if Sylvain tries hard enough, it’d help sweep away his hardness on its own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Yeah. Like <em>that’s</em> going to happen.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sylvain,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain wonders if Dimitri’s caught him. Instead of saying anything about <em>why</em> he’s so quiet, though, Dimitri splashes some water at him, and it breaks the oppressive silence, enough that Sylvain manages to laugh, strangled and hoarse as his voice is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t think you’re getting away with that so easily, Dimitri.” Sylvain forces a grin, and splashes Dimitri back, managing to get enough water to spray up to Dimitri’s face that the king is left spluttering. “Catch me if you can!” Sylvain swims away from Dimitri, wading his arms to get him to the further edge of the pond; the water is cold, cold enough that he can feel his embarrassing situation slowly ebb; by the time Dimitri catches up to him, Sylvain’s relaxed a fraction, enough that his mind brings him back to moments like these when they were children, swimming together (with Ingrid and Felix, too) when they were playing in the castle grounds, young and naive and unaware of the things that they would have to face when they grew up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You managed to catch up, huh?” Sylvain says, and slams his palms on the water, giggling when another splash hits Dimitri’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri, not one to relent, bites back a laugh and returns Sylvain’s favor, getting Sylvain’s face and hair wet with water; a trail glistens down from his forehead, down to his nose, and then his lips. Sylvain licks it off his lower lip, unconsciously, and his heart rate spikes when he notices Dimitri’s eyes are focused on his lips, right where his tongue had been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Could Dimitri desire him that way?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Testing out his hypothesis, Sylvain runs his hand through his hair, making sure his hand’s wet enough that some of the water dribbles past the cracks of his fingers, running down to his lips. Sylvain does it again, this time slowly enough that there’s no way the movement could be missed, and Dimitri’s eyes continue tracking his movements, clear blue eyes darkening to deep sea blue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain doesn’t let himself think too hard; he does what comes the most natural to him, his palm rising above the water (still wet at most, damp at the very least), to rest on Dimitri’s jaw, his thumb finding Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri’s breath hitches, and so does Sylvain’s, and Sylvain sucks in a sharp breath when he takes several seconds too long to look at Dimitri’s lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I…?” Sylvain trails off, looking carefully at Dimitri’s face, to see any sign of rejection.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t find it, and when Dimitri nods, that’s all it takes for him to lean in and press his lips against Dimitri’s, who meets the sudden contact with pleasant enthusiasm. Dimitri’s lips are warm and chapped; they aren’t the softest lips Sylvain has ever kissed, but that doesn’t matter, because his lips fit the most perfectly with his, Dimitri’s mouth moulding perfectly against his, like these were the lips Sylvain was meant—has <em>always</em> been meant—to kiss.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain tangles his fingers in Dimitri’s hair, tugging his head back to allow him better access to Dimitri’s neck. He can feel the way Dimitri’s pulse beats erratically under his lips, noting, with no small amount of smugness, of how it beats even <em>faster</em> when Sylvain licks a line from the base of his neck to his ear, making him gasp and dig his fingers against Sylvain’s side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about,” Dimitri chokes out between kisses; it’s a difficult task, considering Sylvain barely lets him breathe—and when he does, Sylvain likes to take the air out of his lips, greedily swallowing down Dimitri’s little pants. “What about the person you like?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain pauses, and <em>gapes</em>. Dimitri <em>still</em> hasn’t figured it out? He would’ve thought that after <em>this</em>, it would’ve been clear enough to Dimitri who it was exactly that Sylvain has been after, all this time; but Sylvain is tired of keeping this charade, not when Dimitri might just like him too, not when he thinks he might finally get some sense of the happiness he’d always craved.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s you, Your Highness,” Sylvain says, nosing the crook of Dimitri’s neck, their bodies pulled close together. The water is cold, but Sylvain doesn’t feel that at all with their chests pressed against each other’s, Sylvain soaking up every bit he can of Dimitri’s heat. “It’s always been you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Is this a joke?” Dimitri asks, and he doesn’t sound mad; he does, however, sound serious, enough that Sylvain reluctantly pulls his head back to look at Dimitri with the most earnest gaze he can muster. “Sylvain, don’t lie to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m <em>not</em>,” Sylvain insists. “It really has always been you. I’ve just… I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know if you even felt the same way—and if you didn’t, Dimitri, I don’t know if I could ever bear to lose you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sylvain…” Dimitri takes Sylvain’s hand in his. They’re a little wrinkly from the water, but it’s still Dimitri’s hand, so Sylvain squeezes down, keeping his smile small and hopeful. “You never would’ve lost me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that’s what you’d say, but you can’t just bounce back into friendship after all <em>this</em>. Unless that’s what you want.” Sylvain feels like his throat has closed up, just thinking if that were the case; if he was reading the signals right, it <em>should</em> mean that his feelings aren’t as unrequited as he’d thought, but just in case, “I can pretend this never happened. That we never kissed. That I never told you how I felt, if that’s what you want. Anything <em>you</em> want, Dima.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri squeezes back, shaking his head. Sylvain’s heart might just leap out of his throat, if he isn’t careful. “I want this,” he admits, saying the words clearly even as his face is red enough to rival the raw tomatoes in the kitchens. “I don’t want to forget about this. I don’t want to forget that this ever happened. On the contrary, I would… I think I’d like for this to keep happening.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Has anyone ever felt so happy they could die? If there hasn’t, Sylvain might be the first man who has ever felt that way, because that’s just how he feels; he’s so <em>happy</em>, and the emotion is so foreign that he needed a moment to process what it was before a bright smile breaks across his features, bright enough to rival the sun shining on them from above. He kisses the corner of Dimitri’s lips, and then his cheeks, then the tip of his nose; and then he does it all over again, only stopping when Dimitri squirms in his hold, the heat emanating from his face hot enough to rival the heat of the sun.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does this mean we’re…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain shakes his head. When Dimitri deflates, his face falling into one of the most crestfallen expressions Sylvain has ever seen him wear, Sylvain quickly says, “No, not yet. I want to court you, Dima. Properly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri’s crestfallen expressions goes away, in its place rivalled with a look that promises competition. Sylvain loves it—loves him. “Shouldn’t I be the one courting you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who says we can’t court each other?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d meant it as a joke, but Dimitri takes it seriously, views it as a challenge. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, then. To whoever courts the other better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…It isn’t supposed to be a competition, you know.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>feedback is always appreciated!! &lt;3 i hope you liked the chapter, and we only have the last chapter to go (which serves, mostly, as sort-of an epilogue) :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a double update!!! make sure you've read the previous chapter first before reading this one :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only person Sylvain knows <em>and</em> trusts well enough to help him with the courting of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is Mercedes. He rules Felix out because he knows, already, how unhelpful Felix would be (he’d probably tell Sylvain to ask Dimitri to a spar as way of courtship), and he doesn’t know if Ingrid is necessarily going to react well to the news that him and Dimitri might just have something going on between them, now. Even if Ingrid would take it in stride, if only, for the fact that the both of them are her friends and she wants Sylvain to settle down, there’s still the problem of Ingrid wondering if Sylvain is even good enough for Dimitri.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain knows the answer to that, but he’s selfish enough not to want to hear it coming from another person’s lips, even if that other person is someone who knows him too well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So: Mercedes. She doesn’t stay in the capital, and considering he doesn’t know when else he’s going to get the chance to see her, Sylvain talks to her the first opportunity he finds, on the evening after his and Dimitri’s first kiss. It’s a few hours to go until dinner time, and Mercedes is alone, which makes it the perfect opportunity for them to talk without any eavesdroppers around—Sylvain isn’t shy about having people know about him and Dimitri (he’s planning a <em>courtship</em>, for Sothis’ sake), but he doesn’t want word to get to Dimitri too soon. Not until Sylvain is able to start the courtship himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, Sylvain,” Mercedes chirps in that sing-song voice of hers, lips curled into a smile Sylvain can’t help but return. Mercedes has always had that infectious effect on people, Sylvain not excluded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Mercedes. Mind if I talked to you for a moment?” Sylvain plasters his winning grin, the one he’s always using to get exactly what he wants. Most times, it’s to get someone in his bed, but sometimes, he also uses it for favors—kind of like what he’s doing now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I don’t! Come sit.” She takes a seat on a bench and pats the spot right next to hers, which Sylvain is quick to take, leaning his back against the wall. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you think I should try courting His Highness?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, Mercedes looks surprised; it’s only the slightest reaction, though, her eyes widening a fraction before they go back to their usual state. If Sylvain’s not wrong, he’d swear he can see the slightest bit of a pleased glint in her violet orbs, though she’s not sure <em>why</em> she’s so happy about this. He isn’t complaining, if this means she’s going to help him, though.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re planning on courting Dimitri?” Mercedes asks, and Sylvain nods in response. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve always thought the two of you would’ve made a lovely couple.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain blinks. That’s news to him. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course.” Mercedes nods, humming happily. “It’s very sweet, the way you look at each other.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve been watching us?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not really. I just notice these things.” That’s all she says, and Sylvain lets her leave it at that, because whether Mercedes had known for a while or not isn’t what he’s trying to talk about. (Still, the way they look at each other? Does this mean Dimitri has been looking at him the same way Sylvain looks at him too, all this time, and he has just never noticed?)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Sylvain says, grinning in a manner that could almost be considered bashful on anyone that wasn’t Sylvain Jose Gautier. But he <em>is</em> Sylvain, so instead of bashful, it comes out as slightly cocky; much like his usual grins, only a little softer, less of a snide bite on them. “So… any ideas? I was thinking of asking him the night before the professor leaves, when they’ll be holding another ball.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why don’t you do it sooner?” Mercedes suggests, primly smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress with the back of her palms. “I think it’s better if you did it sooner than later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How soon would you think is soon enough?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t that too soon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mercedes shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Do you already know each other’s feelings?” A nod, from Sylvain. “Then I don’t think you have to prolong it. Maybe you could give him a gift, to start the courtship. Something… thoughtful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain whistles, and looks at Mercedes in a new light. “You’re surprisingly good at this, Mercedes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just trying to be helpful!” Mercedes giggles into her closed fist, and Sylvain chuckles with her, because just like her smile, the way Mercedes laughs is also infectious. “Do you have anything that you think would work as a courting gift?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain almost says no, but then he remembers something; the perfect gift, just the thing that’d started it all. Slowly, a smirk curls across his fast, and he says, “Mercedes, are you free for a little while longer? I need you to help me find this book…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Breakfasts in Faerghus are, oftentimes, a rowdy occasion. Faerghan people are spirited; maybe not <em>extremely</em> so, but they’re a bunch who would spend their mornings chatting over their meals, catching up on the things they’ve missed and talking about everything and nothing. It’s for this reason why the dining hall in the palace is always so loud, and Sylvain would even say it’s <em>nearly</em> as spirited as Garreg Mach’s dining hall. Most nobles opt out of dining in their rooms to instead eat together as a communal, and on most occasions, Sylvain is happy to throw himself into the conversations, chatting up a storm about his latest conquests.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But today is a different occasion, and Sylvain walks into dining hall with a nervous trepidation in his steps. It isn’t obvious, of course: Sylvain is an expert at faking these things, and to the normal eye, he doubts his nerves could be seen at all. However, Ingrid is already there (of course she is), ready to call Sylvain over to her table when she notices the way he’s walking; the greeting that’d been on the tip of her tongue, her hand already waved in the air, is immediately replaced by a worried frown, and Sylvain wonders if his plan is going to be postponed because Ingrid might be ready to storm over towards him and mother-hen him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe, on another day, Sylvain would’ve let her—but not today, because he’s already thought of a <em>meticulous</em> plan, and he doesn’t want to wait another day for it to happen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ignores everyone else, and marches towards the center of the room, right where Dimitri is seated. Dimitri glances up from his breakfast to look at him, and Sylvain can feel satisfaction resting in his stomach when a blush spreads across his king’s face at the sight of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Sylvain?” Dimitri asks, the blush still prominent on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your Highness,” Sylvain says, and presents a book in front of him, close enough for Dimitri to grab. The book is one on the laws they’d been researching that first, fateful conversation in the library, though Dimitri doesn’t know that yet—all he sees is a book on Faerghus’ past laws, a rather old book that looks like it’s ready to pull apart at the seams, but realization slowly dawns onto him, if the way he’s begun blushing even darker is of any indication. “I would like to present you with a courting gift.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvain’s voice is loud, loud enough that the room’s chatter and laughter slowly falls to a hush. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him and Dimitri, and he already knows, no matter outcome, this will be the highlight of everyone’s conversations for the week to come.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would you accept it and let us begin our courtship?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dimitri accepts the book, carefully and gingerly; he hugs it close to his chest, and when he smiles, Sylvain thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever witnessed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sylvain Jose Gautier,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain’s heart is beating so fast he thinks he might throw up. (He won’t, but it <em>feels</em> that way.) “I accept your courtship.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Behind them, the crowd <em>roars</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything and nothing changes with the beginning of their official courtship. They still work together in council meetings, except this time, no one dares to bring up betrothals with Dimitri; if the display of the courtship proposal hadn’t been enough, the King and his Margrave are so often seen together they’re almost sickeningly attached at each other’s hips, and the servants gush and whisper on how they’ve seen the way the King and his Margrave are so, very obviously in love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s more than an infatuation, as most had expected it to be at first from the margrave. Sylvain does not tire of Dimitri the way he does with everyone else he has bedded, and as the days turns to weeks and the weeks fade to months, the margrave never, not once, stops looking at his king like he would fight countless wars and battalions with the skin of his teeth for one man, as if Dimitri had been the one to hang the stars and the moon in the night sky himself. Everyone knows how tender the margrave is with his king, loving and doting the way no one has ever seen him be with anyone else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as for Sylvain: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Happiness has always been something he’d thought out of his reach. Sylvain’s past speaks of spite and bitterness, his very existence grated by self-loathing and genuine doubts that anyone would ever love him for more than his crest and title. Happiness is a foreign concept—<em>was</em> a foreign concept—and Sylvain knows, logically, that he should never entrust his heart in someone else’s care, not that he does a good job in taking care of his own by himself. But with Dimitri, happiness doesn’t seem so far, anymore. Happiness doesn’t seem like something fleeting, something that is, and will always, be out of Sylvain’s grasp. With Dimitri, Sylvain can grasp at happiness with his fingertips, tugs it close to his chest and lets it warm his cooled heart; and for Sylvain, happiness is Dimitri himself, and happiness is knowing <em>Dimitri</em> can see Sylvain for who he really is and still love him, after knowing everything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You aren’t drunk, are you?” Dimitri asks. It is winter, and as the solstice approaches, there is a ball. Sylvain has danced with many, tonight, but he hasn’t danced with Dimitri aside from their first dance together. The night is moving quickly, and Sylvain can’t, for the life of him, remember how much alcohol he’s downed from the start of the ball. “You’re very heavy to carry when you’re passed out,” Dimitri teases, and they both know is a lie. Dimitri is strong enough that he could carry Sylvain like a sack of potatoes, should he wants to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just a little buzzed,” Sylvain retorts, even if his speech is already slurred. Dimitri laughs at him, and Sylvain laughs, too. “Dance the rest of the night with me, Dima?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He offers his hand, and Dimitri takes it, no hesitation at all written across his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course, Sylvain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then they dance, and dance, and dance, even when the crowd starts to fade, even when the music slowly stops; they keep dancing, lost and found in each other’s presence, and Sylvain would never have it any other way.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you so much for reading this story! your comments are always appreciated, as well as kudos. feel free to talk to me on twitter (linked in the main author's notes?? thing??), and see you next time!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>talk to me on <a href="https://twitter.com/jinorrah">twt</a>!!! pls let me know your thoughts :]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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